This Isn't A Dream Anymore
by LogicIsBoring44
Summary: What happens when a lost and angry young man meets people who tap into his latent talent, and use his legacy as a means to get a foothold in America? They know his weakness, his pressure points, and they are not above using them for their own means. Will Dean be able to save Ben from dark influences? Or the rest of his family? *Fourth in the Truth is Better Than Fiction series*
1. Chapter 1

**This the fourth (and possibly last) story in this series.**

 **Well, read and review, please!**

* * *

Krissy Chambers is sitting on Jody Mills' stoop in Sioux Falls, North Dakota watching as everyone in the town celebrated the fact that the fog is gone and the sun is shining at normal levels. It no longer looks like its dying and about to either collapse in on itself or expand to the point that it scorches the Earth, turning it into another Mercury. Fitting since it swallowed up Mercury and Venus when it expanded.

The hunter knows better. It wasn't freak science that messed with the sun, it was something more otherworldly than anything naturally occurring. Not elemental imbalance in the star that caused it to turn red and cut back on its life-giving force.

It was the Darkness. Hopefully the Winchesters are behind the sun coming back to them, and she hopes that Ben is safe with them.

He'll get in contact with her as soon as he can. It's what they talked about should they ever get separated or go on different hunts, not that Krissy had been planning on letting that scenario come to fruition. It's why Krissy kept her phone fully charged the past couple of days, and it's only been four days since they parted ways, and she should have never, _never_ let him go off on his own.

After all her promises to herself, Krissy still couldn't keep a single one. Yes, she had planned on coming to Sioux Falls with Ben and finding a life here so he could keep training under Jody, and becoming a unit with Claire.

As much as Krissy hates to admit it, her, Claire, and Ben could be one of the best hunting units out there. Better than Sam and Dean. They just need time to train together, to learn each others' weaknesses and their strengths, and to learn how to put their hunting styles into a cohesive form that'll be devastating to all the things that go bump-in-the-night.

That'll only happen if Ben calls her back.

"Please, Ben," Krissy prayed softly, "call me. Please - just call me. Let me know you're safe." She clasped her hands together, her cell sandwiched between her palms, and rested her forehead against his knuckles. "Please be safe."

 **BW**

Sam woke up to a cattle prod to the chest after being put out from getting the bullet taken out of his leg. Agony rippled through him as panic made itself heard. Where's Ben? Where's his nephew? There will be hell to pay if they hurt him.

The woman with the cattle prod smirked at him and said in a malicious tone, "Be a good boy."

Sam shot her the hottest glare in his arsenal, one usually reserved for Lucifer. She should feel honored to be subjected to that particular glare.

The British lady, Toni Bevell, appeared in his eye line. She moved to sit in a chair that's next to a table, pulling out a notebook and a fancy pen that piqued Sam's interest in more ways than one. If he can get a hold of that, it'd be an amazing weapon, and, also, it looked like it'd be fun to write with, reminding him of his college days.

Ben should experience that. In fact, Sam's decided through the pain, he's sending Ben to college whether he wants to or not. As his guardian now, Ben's future is in Sam's hands. Ben is getting an education. He'll be more than a hunter.

"Now, Sam. Let's begin."

"Toni Bevell. London Chapterhouse," Sam said. He remembers.

Bevell grinned. "That's right."

"You're, uh, an English Men of Letters?"

"British," came the sharp correction, and Sam scoffed. There's one button he can push.

"Where are we?"

"Does it matter?"

Sam smirked. "Just wondering how far long a walk it'll be back to town after I kill you. And her," he said, nodding towards Cattle Prod Woman. "But you first," Sam told Bevell.

His response seemed to amuse her and she stopped writing in her notepad, giving Sam her full attention now, and Cattle Prod Woman seemed equally amused at him.

"Yes, well, before you murder us all," Bevell replied with a half-smirk, "we do have a few questions. About you, your brother. Hunters in America, and how you saved the sun."

Sam laughed. "Right. You shoot me, kidnap me, but yeah, happy to help."

"I didn't want to hurt you Sam, you gave me no choice," Bevell answered. "And, well, I can say it was never supposed to go this way but you're ...you. It was always going to go this way."

"And you know me?" Sam shot back.

"We do. We've been watching you and your brother for years. Ever since you almost ended the world the first time. We knew all about Lucifer, the angels falling."

"Then where were you?" demanded Sam.

Bevell tipped her pen at him. "Fair question. See, some of us wanted to get involved, but the old men wouldn't allow it. Thought we were overstepping our bounds. After all this business with the Darkness, even they had to agree, things need to change." Sam snorted, and Bevell leaned forward, imploring him to listen.

"You may not believe this, Sam, but we're here to help."

Now Sam laughed outright. "I can tell," he said sarcastically.

Bevell grinned back. "I want to apologize for locking you up. You're dangerous - to others - and to yourself, but if you answer my questions, you can walk right out that door. I promise."

"Pass."

"Sam," Bevell admonished.

"Screw you," Sam replied with as much venom as he could. "Where's Ben?" If they hurt him, Sam swears to Chuck that he will murder them all slowly and painfully.

Bevell quirked an amused eyebrow, recapturing her control, and tapped her notepad twice. "Still sleeping. What did you put him out with? He didn't even stir as we hauled him all about. Not even when we deposited him on the bed upstairs. Not a twitch."

Tension fled from him and Sam's shoulders slumped in relief. They didn't hurt Ben. Good. He's still going to kill them but now its because they dared to come into his house and take the last of his family from him, and because Bevell banished Cas to who knows where. Whatever they want with him, Sam's not going to make it easy on them, and if they dare to use Ben to get him to capitulate, they'll regret it for the rest of their short lives.

"I don't care what you do to me. I'm not going to answer any of your questions. I've been tortured by Lucifer himself. What can you possibly do to me?" Sam asked mockingly.

Bevell sighed and capped her pen. She shared a look with Cattle Prod Woman and nodded her head. The brunette reached over to the sink that had a hose hooked into the spigot that lead up to a shower head above Sam, and turned on the cold water.

Sam had to laugh again. "A cold shower? That's your play?"

Neither woman answered him.

The cold immediately started taking affect and a part of him worried that they'd subject Ben to this, but they really hadn't mentioned his nephew during their talk. Not until he asked. He doesn't know what that means, but he does know whatever it is they want with Ben, it's not good.

Bevell stared at him, and Sam tilted his head up as much as he could without inadvertently drowning himself in the process and spit out, "Screw. You."

Bevell sighed in exasperation. She allowed the cold water to rain down on him for a number of minutes, long enough for her to get sick of standing and returned to her chair. She watched Sam shiver and shake under the water until she deemed it long enough for him to answer, getting up and the cold water shut off.

"Can we end this, Sam, please?" Bevell pleaded.

Sam honestly thought she meant it but like hell is he giving in. "Screw you." He shivered from the cold but kept his head held high.

"What do you imagine is happening here? Do you think you're being brave, that you're the hero of the story?" She scoffed. "You're no hero. You're just bad at your job."

"And you're better?"

"So much better. You drive back roads, catching cases at random. You catch word of bodies dropped, you check it out, and maybe you even get the thing that killed that did it. But that person is still dead, and maybe more. But my people?" Bevell said. "We plan ahead. We study lore, and we use it against our enemies.

"Back home, every thoroughfare, every bridge, every dock, every airport has been warded. The moment a monster sets foot in Britain, we know about it. Withing 20 minutes he's been picked up, and within 40, he's dead. There hasn't been a monster related death since 1965 because we are good at our job." Sam sneered. Not possible. She's lying through her teeth.

"Now you were always a lost cause, but, Sam, we are hoping there are other hunters we can work with. Teach. So, I need you to give me names and locations and everything else. Dead drops, meeting places, an organizational hierarchy, because maybe with all of us working together, we can do what you never could - make America safe."

"Maybe you tie them to a chair," Sam replied, not believing a word she says. "Maybe you do worse. So, maybe, maybe you can go to Hell."

"Have it your way." Bevell walks away in disgust, but stops at the stairs and turns her head to speak. "I wonder though, with Dean dead, how are you possibly going to keep Ben safe? Will he die young like so many hunters before him? Don't you want a world for him where he can walk in the streets at night without worrying about some monster or demon attacking him?"

Sam didn't say anything. He does. Of course, he does, but that's not a world they live in.

Bevell turned her head forward and walked up the stairs.

CPW pushed off the wall and grabbed a small torch and turned it on. She walked forward and bent down to Sam's level, and asked, "Are you really gonna make me do this?"

"Screw...you," Sam repeated defiantly.

CPW sighed, like it was his fault she has to be the bad guy, and slowly inched the blowtorch to his foot and burned lines into it. Her hand is steady, Sam appreciated that he'll have uniformed scars afterwards.

He's not going to break, Sam told himself through the pain. Ben's at stake. He can handle this.

He's not going to break.

Sam came to on the floor, his foot bandaged, and a needle entry point on his neck, which felt on fire - and his head. What did Bevell or Cattle Prod Woman inject him with? His head felt weird. Cotton-y. Whispers and echoes scream, condemning him for past actions break through the cotton. Dean's voice is the loudest, blaming him for his death, for not finding another way, and for letting his son be taken by strangers.

"Ben," he whispered brokenly, clutching his head and shaking it to clear the voices. "I'm sorry."

Dean's voice rises in anger and disappointment, cutting Sam deep - castigating him for his failure at doing the one thing Dean asked of him. He even lost Castiel. Dean's voice yells at him to just kill himself already, Cas and Ben will be just fine without Sam screwing them up. Cas would do a better job taking care of Ben, and Ben likes the angel more anyway. It's for the best.

"For the best," Sam repeated.

The voices rose up in tandem, and Jess' voice joins Dean's. His neck twinges, reminding him it isn't real. Sam huffs out a quiet laugh. Oh, sneaky, sneaky. He can use this to his advantage.

Sam allowed the voices to roll over him and he started reacting to them in a visceral manner. He wants either CPW or Bevell to believe what they did to him is getting to him, and then he'll draw them in.

Staggering around, trying to ignore the voices, though Dean's and Jess' cut deeper than the others, Sam ended up in front of the mirror, and a plan formed in his mind.

"You're right," he told the voices, and punched the mirror. Grabbing the biggest shard, Sam brought it up to his throat and pretended to slit it. As he fell down, he made sure to cut deep on his hand to ensure a lot of blood beneath him. He needed Bevell or CPW to come in close so he could use either one to get out and find Ben.

Three minutes and Bevell comes down the stairs, cattle prod at the ready, but so was Sam. Moving lightning fast, Sam knocked the cattle prod out of Bevell's hands, and then her slammed against the wall with his hands around her throat faster than she can react.

"Where. Is. Ben?" Sam hissed, tightening his grip.

Bevell gasped, but didn't respond. Sam loosened enough for her to draw breath but kept firm pressure as a reminder of what he can do to her.

"Upstairs."

Grinning ferally, Sam applied more pressure on her throat, and watched her face turn red then purple. She collapsed, and Sam let her fall to the ground. He turned away to the stairs. He has a nephew to collect and make sure he's unharmed.

A blow to the back of the head had Sam staggering sideways, and Bevell shot past him and up the wooden staircase, locking the door behind her, and just in time. Sam was right behind her, his body slammed into the door, rattling it on its hinges but held steady.

"No!" Nonononono. Ben.

Sam slumped defeated. So close. So. Close. He thumped his head against the stair railing. He's going to get out, find Ben, call Cas, and get them both home where they're safe.

He promised Dean, and he's going to keep that promise even if it kills him.

"I'm coming for you, Ben. I promise. I'm coming." Sam closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

 **I'm going to take a little more liberty with this season. Not sticking so close to what happened. Dunno how long it'll be but I swear I'll post more regularly this time.**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean clenched his jaw and shoved his growing rage down so he could drive without killing Cas and his _mom_ from distracted driving.

Blood in the Bunker. Cas banished by some unseen force. His brother and son are missing, taken by whoever banished Cas, and who knew about the Bunker. The fact that they used a banishing sigil tells Dean that whoever it is, they're human. They have to be Men of Letters. Another member or descendant of someone who was initiated before the slaughter perhaps. Anyone else wouldn't be able to get in. Not with the locks and wards around the place.

It took Amara _months_ to find it.

Dean kept his eyes forward and hands gripping the steering wheel. He can feel Mary staring at him worriedly from the passenger seat, and Cas' from behind him. Just think, an hour ago he'd been ecstatic to have his mother returned to him, and on his way to break the news to the rest of his family, especially Sam, of their mother's reappearance in their life 30 years after her death. That this is the Darkness' thank you, and for once things seem to be going their way ...until Dean and Mary return to the Bunker and find a crime scene instead of his family sitting around in mourning.

He gets maybe three days with his son, goes on a suicide mission, doesn't die from said mission, reunite the first family ever, and gets his mother back in gratitude for a good deed. Things should have been good, at least for a little while. A month. He's not asking for much. Just one month with his family, dammit. A month for getting to know his son, of reconnecting, and taking baby steps on this new path with Cas.

His hand still tingles with warmth from when he held hands with his angel.

Dean rubbed his tingling palm against the steering wheel absently. They have a lead, a black SUV was seen blowing through a red light minutes after Sam and Ben were taken. A man driving the vehicle, Jamie Ross, admitted he drove the blonde woman they've been looking for but he didn't know her name.

Ross did give them another lead, the tail number of the plane Evil Elsa flew in on, and Dean looked it up. It had diplomatic registry, which is unfortunate because their flight records are sealed and Dean is not going to hack into the State Department. He doesn't have the skill set. That's Sam's area of expertise.

Another lead popped into sight, thank you, Cas.

Dr. Marion, a veterinarian said he pulled a bullet out of Sam's leg, saw a teenager sleeping in the backseat of the SUV before the driver bailed, and he told them that another woman showed up in another vehicle to pick them up, and they drove away.

Mary got more information out of Marion, telling Cas to hurt the man, and they found out he had Evil Elsa's phone number. Apparently, she called him a couple hours ago, asking about the sedative he gave to Sam. Unfortunately, he has no idea where they are. He damn near wet himself when Cas growled in dissatisfaction, and that in no way made Dean feel a little hot under the collar. Now is not the time for those kind of thoughts.

Under duress, Dr. Marion called Evil Elsa, only she figured out Marion wasn't calling of his own volition. Dude couldn't act worth a damn.

Dean grabbed the phone from him and demanded his son and brother back or he'd kill them slowly. If she gave them back, he'd let it go. Sam and Ben's safe return is his only concern for the moment. He'll find and kill her later. She hung up on him. Rude.

They're currently on their way back to the Bunker to trace Evil Elsa's number.

A vehicle came out of nowhere and rammed them on the passenger side near the back wheel, and Dean had a brief flashback to before Dad sold his soul for him. Mom is unconscious, Cas is okay and so is Dean.

At least now Dean has an outlet for his anger.

"Dean Winchester, I presume," a brunette says in a British voice and a smile, a cut on her cheek from the crash makes him grin a little at seeing.

Dean stalked forward and grabbed the woman by her lapels. British accent, knows his name, it doesn't take a genius to know she's been where his family are being held. "Tell me where my son and brother are and I'll take it easy on you."

The woman's smile grew mockingly. "Oh, please don't." She jabbed forward, hitting Dean with brass knuckles, and they hurt like a bitch. He got her in a choke hold but she easily got out of hit and gave him several body punches before turning her attention to Cas, knocking him to the ground as well. Those brass knuckles are not normal ones if they're hurting Cas.

"Round two? Anyone?" she asked cockily.

Dean glared, and shot to his feet. First, she hits his Baby, injures his mom, hurts Cas, and she knows where his family is. This fight isn't nowhere near done.

He throws a punch but she easily ducks under it and counters with a punch of her own, sending him to the ground. Those damn brass knuckles are kicking his ass. Cas' too. This woman can fight, seems to enjoy it as she disarms Cas like she's taking a toy away from a baby. They're not even giving her a hard time. Talk about an ego check.

She grabbed Dean's gun, the one she took from him when she escaped the choke hold - damn she's good, he didn't feel her take it - and aimed it at them.

"You know, I would've thought that with two strapping lads such as yourselves would have lasted a tad longer," she says, scoffing a bit. "Hey, you know what they say. Good things come to those -"

Mary stabs her through the back with Cas' discarded sword.

"No!" Dean shouts, crawling forward to the already dead woman's body as it hits the ground. "No, why did you do that? She knows where Sam and Ben are!"

Knowing it was no use, Dean still reached forward and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Dean let out a roar of rage and slammed his hands on the pavement again and again, tearing the skin. Nonononono. She was their best lead to finding them.

"Why didn't you just disarm her? Knock her out?" asked Dean angrily. He quit punching the asphalt, and cradled his head in his bloodied hands. Cas' warm touch covered them then a hand went to his forehead, and he healed Dean's injuries. His hands grasped Dean's, offering comfort that he didn't want but couldn't deny the angel giving.

"We'll find them," Cas promised, and Dean wished he could believe him. Right now things are looking bleak. "We need to hide her car."

Dean got up and didn't look at Mary. He couldn't. Cas held Dean's hands a little longer then let go. The hunter went around front and turned on the vehicle so he could shift it into neutral for him and Cas to push into the trees.

When he came back, Mary is sitting in the backseat, her feet on the asphalt, looking at her hands. A part of Dean wanted to say something comforting but he's still pissed off at her. He opted to fill her in on what he found in the vehicle, crouching to her level, and told her about the woman's phone. A call from Aldrich, Missouri came a couple of minutes before she rammed into them, and that is where he thinks Ben and Sam are.

Mary nodded, saying good.

Then, unprompted, she started talking about how she spent her life running from hunting, that she didn't want this life for him and Sam, and Dean wished on any other day they were having this conversation, because it is important, but he just can't right now. His priority is his son - finding Ben and Sam. Heart-to-hearts are going to have to happen later.

"Mom, I-I get it. I do, but my son and little brother are out there, in Missouri, with some British woman, doing Chuck knows what to them," Dean told her as gently as his anger allows him to. "Saving people, hunting things, this is our life. I think we make the world a better place. I know that we do."

Mary nodded again, pulling herself together. Dean reached out and laid a hand on her knee then straightened up. It's a long drive back to the bunker.

Cas is staring at him from where they stashed the jeep. There's concern in those ancient and familiar blue eyes, it warms Dean's heart and body. There's a talk in their future, and Dean hopes he doesn't screw it up. Cas means too much to him to lose over his inability to talk about his feelings. Just ask Sam. He's been harping on Dean about that for years. Even Dad got frustrated with Dean bottling everything up, and cracking jokes instead of talking.

The idle thought that Ben might be the same way has him heaving an internal sigh.

Mary hasn't said a word since they got back to the Bunker. He sent Cas ahead to Aldrich to try and see if he can find where Evil Elsa and Punchy McPuncherson took Ben and Sam while Dean tried to find them digitally. There has to be a record of them somewhere. They flew in, dammit. Someone had to have seen them or at least know where they went. Traffic cams are of no help.

If his mom would just _talk_ to him, it'd be one thing off his checklist out of the way.

Dean scrubbed his face in exhaustion. Missouri is their only lead. Cas is currently scouring the place for any hint of Evil Elsa, he's having Cas check out real estate holdings that have either been bought or recently rented.

Rural areas suck. So easy to hide and disappear, and not a whole lot of surveillance.

Mary came waltzing in after he hung up with Cas wearing his bathrobe. It brought a brief smile to his face.

"Any news on Sam?" she asked.

Dean shook his head and lead her to his laptop. "Somewhere outside Aldrich, Missiouri," he told her, pulling up what he found, and it's not much. "Cas is going through it with a fine-toothed comb, and I've cracked every database I could."

"Every what?"

"Right," Dean said, rapping the table with his knuckles because, like an idiot, he forgot, "you didn't have internet the first time around."

Mary smiled wryly. "We didn't have an electric typewriter." She looked down at the table then, asked, "Are you really afraid about overwhelming me?"

She didn't look at Dean, and Dean couldn't look at her. This is so awkward on so many levels.

"Mom, look, I am," he paused, a little disbelief and a happiness he couldn't quite handle flooded him for a moment, "so happy you're here. I am. I mean, I am so damn happy I can't stand it."

Mary smiled, a real one, too. "It's just going to take me a second to catch up, you know?"

Dean immediately started nodding and agreeing, because he had a similar situation so many years ago when he met her and Dad when they were younger, and when he met Grandpa Henry and Adam. He gets it.

"I have a grandson," Mary said in wonder, and Dean's panic and worry over Ben slapped him in the face to remind him it's still there. "We're going to find Sam and your son," she assured Dean, and Dean wanted to laugh/cry over her comforting _him._

Mary's smile faded and she pulled away, and not just physically.

"When we find Sam, how am I going to face him?" she asked, horror, disgust and recrimination in her voice. "That yellow-eyed thing would have never come to him that night if I -" she breaks off and takes a shuddering breath. "I started all of this."

Dean frowned at the broken, guilt-ridden look on her face. It hits him then that that's the look he has whenever he thinks of Ben. Did he ever want Ben hunting? No. He knows this life, and he would have given everything to ensure he was never drawn into this world, but he is a Winchester, and this is it for them. Whether they like it or not.

Does he blame himself for Ben's life ending up like it is? Fuck yes. Just by being his son, Ben's life was always in danger, and when Crowley found out and the threat of angels, Dean had to do the hardest thing he has ever done: stripping Ben and Lisa's memories of him and sending them away.

Five years his son grew up without any knowledge of him, then Lisa dies when the angels fall. His son spent a year without his mother and Dean, and he picked up hunting because he somehow found people connected to him that are Hunter-Lite, like Jody and the girls. Like Krissy Chambers and Jo, who made sure to send Ben to someone who could truly protect and teach him. This was always going to be his son's life, just like it was for Dean and Sam.

"My son turns 19 this year. He should be enjoying his first year in college and going to frat parties on the weekends, and going home to Lisa on holidays," Dean says, meeting Mary's eyes. "He was 8 when I first met him. Changelings. I knew the second I laid eyes on him, he was mine, and I wasn't happy, not at first. No, not at first." Dean copied Mary's posture. "I was scared. For him. I had - I had death nipping at my heels, and I was going around re-visiting old flames, and Lisa was one of them."

Dean huffed a laugh. "I met my son on his birthday, and came close to losing him the next day. I had never been so scared in my life. Not even when the Shtriga almost took Sam when we were kids. I couldn't think, Mom. I could barely breathe," he recalled, his heart rate picking up at the memory. Mary drew forward, pulled in by Dean's story, and desperate for a connection.

"He knew he was mine. He told me so after he snuck out of the house to catch me before I left. Lisa lied when I asked if Ben was my son, and I didn't blame her. I would've done anything to keep Ben safe, but Ben wasn't having it. He _had_ to tell me he knew the truth." Dean blinked rapidly to dispel any accruing tears. "Holding my son for the first time, there were no words to explain how it felt, but I also felt an immense sense of loss. Of being robbed. I should have been there when he was born. I should have been in that room, holding Lisa's hand, getting yelled at for putting her in this position as she damn near broke my fingers from contractions.

"Ben's first steps, his first word, his first day of school ...I should have been there for all of it. But I wasn't. I was having the time of my life hunting and taking care of Sam. The bitch of it," he said to Mary, "is I'm not sure I would have done the right thing if Lisa had been able to track me down. What would have Dad and Sam thought about me being a dad? Would they have believed I could do a good job?"

Mary reached out, laying her hand over Dean's. He gets it, she thought. A connection blossomed between them. For the first time since she'd been brought back, Mary saw her sweet little boy in Dean, the one who made her feel better when her and John had a fight. Who mediated between them when things got heated. A responsibility much too big for a child but he handled it with ease.

"You would have been the best father that boy could ever have," Mary said with conviction. Dean reared back, not believing her. "You would have, Dean. No monster or demon would have gone anywhere near your son, and as for John? I _know_ he would have been happy for you."

Dean scoffed. "In our life, the life you hate and wanted to get away from, and died because of? I'm pretty sure Dad would have encouraged me to stay away and let Ben grow up safe and ignorant of our life. It's what he did with Adam. He still died because he didn't _know_ about hunting. No matter how much you wanted to be rid of hunting, Mom," Dean said, "this is our destiny. Literally. The angels and demons made it so. A prophecy of a union between Mary Campbell, descendant of a long line of hunters, and John Winchester, a legacy of the Men of Letters. No matter what you did or did not do, this was always going to be our life."

Mary pulled her hand away from his. He missed its comforting weight and warmth.

"I love you, Mom, and I'm happy you're here, but I - I need you to not focus on the past. It never does anyone good. We have to find Sam and Ben." Mary nodded. "Get some rest. You have a lot to process and I have some ideas to go over."

Mary nodded again and walked down to the living quarters, finding an empty room to call hers for the time being. Dean watched her go, eyes sad and face pensive.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben woke slowly. Glacially. Molasses covered snails would have moved faster than him.

The bed is soft, his sleep addled brain informed him primly, and so are the pillows and blankets. They smell clean, too. Dull warning bells sound in his mind but the siren song of staying asleep is too strong to ignore. He drifts off again.

The second time he wakes up, it isn't as slow. His subconscious, that noticed that things are not right, spent that time going over everything that Ben had initially ignored had cataloged them into terms of wrongness, so when Ben finally came back to the land of awareness, it threw the observations at him like a fastball thrown by Warren Spahn. He had no choice but to look at them.

And yeah, Ben realized he's not in Kansas anymore.

Straining his ears, Ben pretended it was a slow crawl to consciousness as he took in the smells and noises and the feel of the room. It's clean, airy, and has a natural brightness that suggest windows, some of which that are open. Definitely not the Bunker.

"Hello, Ben," a male British voice greeted him, and Ben opened his eyes, giving up on pretending.

"Hi," he greeted back. There were two men standing at the foot of his bed, and yeah, Ben is definitely not at the Bunker. The room is as big as the Bunker library with rich oak flooring that transitioned into a dark wood, and a wall of windows to his left. The sun is shining in through them. The incredibly comfortable bed is a four-poster bed with maroon drapes tied to the posts. A sea of pillows surround him like a nest.

"And you are...?"

The shorter of the two men, huffed an embarrassed laugh. He gestured to himself then to the other man. "I'm Mick Davies, and that is my associate Mr. Ketch. We're Men of Letters, London Chapter-house."

Ben nodded at them slowly, his eyes lingering on the silent man, Mr. Ketch. His danger radar pinged loudly. Mr. Ketch smirked coldly at him, his eyes dark as they assessed Ben, seemingly finding him lacking. It had Ben's hackles rising, and it had him moving off the bed and to his feet, chin tilted up defiantly. Mr. Ketch's smirk grew but there was a glimmer of approval in those dark eyes.

"Sharks eyes are warmer than yours," Ben told the man. Mr. Davies covered a smile while Mr. Ketch's smirk disappeared. "And where the hell am I?" Directing the question to Davies.

"Some place safe," Mick assured him. "You're just here to talk before we return you to your uncle."

Sam! "Where is he?" Ben growled out, stalking forward, hand automatically going to the knife hidden in the back of his belt. Krissy worked hard on it, making sure the sheath wouldn't stick out or catch on Ben's shirt.

Mick took a step back when Ben pulled out a knife, surprise on his face.

"I thought you took away all his weapons," he hissed to Ketch. Ketch grunted, a smile appearing. He shifted into a fighting stance, a giddy and excited expression on his face. Mick reached out and placed a hand on Ketch's arm, stopping him.

"I'm a Winchester," Ben told them, his own smirk appearing. "I'm always armed."

Mick held out his free hand, palms up. "Okay, let's take a breath. Shall we?" Ketch subsided, eyes still locked on Ben, and Ben glared right back, but faced his body towards Mick to show he's listening. "Ben, we just want to talk about the hunters in America. Who do you report to? Who's in charge? Where do hunters meet up?"

Ben frowned, giving Mick his full attention.

"Report? In-charge? What? What are you talking about? We don't report to anyone. Why would we? As for in-charge, hunters usually hunt on their own. They're in charge of themselves. The only contact hunters have -" He cut himself off. Wait. Shut up, Ben.

Mick leaned forward, and Ketch shifted his weight. Ben responded in kind to Ketch.

"'The only contact hunters have' what? Where do they meet up? Organizations. Knowledge hubs, since we know the American Men of Letters died out in the 70s. Where do hunters receive their information and marching orders? Tell us, Ben, and I will personally escort you back to where your uncle is being held," Mick told him before his eyes widened and Mr. Ketch growled lowly.

Ben pounced. "Where is my uncle being held? I'm not saying shit until I have proof that my uncle is safe and _unharmed_." He has a feeling his uncle isn't getting the right same treatment as he is.

"We're not going to do that," Mr. Ketch speaks for the first time. "You're not getting anything until you tell us what we want to know." He stalked forward menacingly. Ben felt a thrill of fear shoot down his spine, but his Winchester pride kept him in his place, meeting Mr. Ketch head on.

He didn't flinch when the older man grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him backwards until he hit the far wall. Insides threatening to let loose, Ben glared and moved his face so they were mere inches apart. He waited until Mr. Ketch settled into his intimidation routine, something Ben senses the man has great practice at, before speaking with as much spittle he could muster, and said, "Fuck. You."

Perverse pleasure rolled through him like a wave as he watched his spit splatter on Mr. Ketch's face. Rage contorted the older man's features, hauling back one arm to punch him, but snapping of fingers froze Mr Ketch. He dropped Ben, anger coming off of him for exactly three seconds before he smoothed his expression and became calm again.

"Neat trick," Ben sneered at Mick. "You're attack dog needs some more training."

Ketch's expression flickered. Mick dipped his head down, hiding an amused grin. He likes this boy.

"Yes. Mr. Ketch, would you please go check to see if Dr. Hess is ready for our guest?" Mick asked his colleague. Displeasure shown briefly, but the man nodded and strode out of the room, not looking back.

Ben watched him go, triumph on his face.

"Where's Sam?" he demanded once the door closed. "I'm not saying shit until I know that my uncle is okay. And Castiel," he added. "Once I have that information, I'll tell you what you want." _But if I find out they are not okay, that they're hurt, I'm not saying a word._ "Call him. Now."

Mick stared at Ben, face hard to read, but Ben prayed to God, his dad's friend, and holy shit - his dad's friend is _God_ \- that Mick believed him.

"Fine," the man relented, and pulled out a satellite phone. Oh shit.

"We're not in America are we?" Ben asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. My bosses wanted to speak to you. As a Winchester, a legacy to the Men of Letters, we brought you to our council to talk," informed Mick. He dialed a number, hit the speaker button, and waited.

 _"Yes,"_ a clipped British woman's voice answered.

"Put Sam on," Mick told the woman.

There's silence but then a few seconds later, Ben hears his uncle's voice on the other end.

 _"Hello? Ben? Are you okay?"_

Tears of pooled in his eyes in relief. He quickly brushed them away. "I'm fine. Are you? Did they hurt you?"

A beat too long then his uncle answered, _"They're not hurting me."_ Something about that both did and didn't ring true. _"Where are you?"_

Mick hit the speaker button again, holding his finger up to his lips, shooting Ben a warning look. Ben nodded in understanding before hitting the button. Oh, he understands all right. If he says a word about not being in America right now, they'll hurt his uncle, and they know Ben wouldn't want that. No matter how much he's angry at Sam for so many things.

"I'm somewhere safe," he replied honestly. "No one's tried to kill me."

 _"But did they hurt you?"_ There's a hardness in his uncle's voice. He caught Ben's wording the same way he caught Mick's earlier. _"Did they?"_ The second question didn't feel aimed towards him. He must be asking the woman.

Ben shook his head. "No, Sam. I swear. I'm not hurt." And he's not. Confused and shocked, but not hurt. A memory hit him. "Did you call earlier?"

 _"Yeah. I wanted proof you were safe. You sounded sleepy,"_ Sam told him. Oh. It wasn't a dream. _"But you_ are _okay. Not hurt. Not under any duress?"_

"Nope."

Ben glared at Mick.

"Say goodbye to your uncle, Ben. Tell him you'll see him soon," said Mick.

"Bye, Sam. I'll see you soon," Ben parroted obediently, earning an exasperated eye-roll from Mick. Whatever Mr. Posh wants, he's going to have a bitch of a time getting it out of Ben.

The other side of the phone beeped, signalling the end of the call. Mick clicked a lot of buttons on the phone then pocketed it when he was done. He raised his eyebrows at Ben, as if asking, 'Happy now?'

Ben nodded primly.

"Take me to your leader."

Mick rolled his eyes.

 **BW**

Dr. Hess read the file they had on the Winchesters, specifically Benjamin Braeden-Winchester. Dean Winchester's son. His daughter Emma was killed by Sam Winchester two years ago.

Ben turns 19 in one month. Has a girlfriend, Krissy Chambers, also a hunter, and is friends with Claire Novak and Alex Mills, adopted daughters of Jody Mills, a sheriff and hunter in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Jody Mills is also a friend and ally of the Winchesters.

Tapping her chin, Dr. Hess ignored the others and focused on Benjamin.

Memories spelled away by the Winchester's pet angel, Castiel. Lost his mother when the angels fell, bounced around in foster care for a while before an unnamed angel used their influence to get Benjamin sent to Sioux Falls to be near the vicinity of Dean Winchester's ally. Most likely as repayment for a debt owed. The Winchesters do accumulate some odd bedfellows. Creatures they should have killed on the spot but instead earned their debt to be called in at a later date.

Must be effective. Creatures help the Winchesters, and that could explain their success rate. Nothing else makes sense. But who do they report to? Are they the highest authority?

Benjamin is the answer, Dr. Hess feels it. He's the way in. Her fellow council members agree. To get a foothold in America, they need a Winchester, and Bevell's insistence that Benjamin is the easiest mark - all their attention will be focused on the boy. From his file, she knows exactly how to get to him.

Notations of the boy wanting to prove himself to his father, of abandonment issues that aren't unfounded, and an anger the boy probably isn't aware of seething just under the skin. Dr. Hess bets the boy doesn't even realize just how much rage and bitterness he has towards his father.

They could use that.

A knock on the door signaled Mick and boy's arrival. Ketch had told her the boy is defiant but brave. Has a fighting spirit. Smart, judging by his grades before his month long disappearance, reappearing in Seattle with Krissy Chambers. Something happened. Something took the boy and brought him to Chambers for some reason. Training? The boy might have been more receptive by someone his own age, something to consider.

"Enter," Dr. Hess said curtly.

The door opened, Mick ushered the boy in, and Dr. Hess is struck by how much he resembles his father, but with his mother's eyes. The boy's eyes did a quick sweep of the room before turning his attention to her, an eyebrow rising at her appearance. A flicker of confusion in those brown eyes, and maybe, curiosity as well. Good.

"Hello, Benjamin," Dr. Hess greeted, her eyes locked on his, and like Ketch said, he met her silent challenge head on. The boy is a Winchester, all right.

Nodding in approval, Dr. Hess got up from behind her desk, moving to walk around the boy. He's tall, strong, and needs just a little bit of training to be a good hunter or a great Men of Letters. He could be their beacon to the other hunters, especially the young ones.

"How was your nap? I know Mick called your uncle back in America. I expect it went to your liking?" If looks could kill, Dr. Hess mused dryly. "Did it not go as you wanted it?"

Ben crossed his arms, glaring at her. He wiped any emotion he had on his face, save for the eyes. He has yet mastered the art of putting on masks. Under properly tutelage, the boy could go far, Dr. Hess observed. He could be amazing. Their greatest pupil.

Yes. Their greatest pupil.

"I would like to make a deal with you," Dr. Hess says, coming to stand in front of Ben. Mick's eyebrows shoot upward in surprise but then smooths it away, more effectively than Ben, but give the boy time, and he'll be better. "If you would consider staying here with me for two months, not only will I teach you about your heritage as a legacy to Men of Letters, but I will teach you things no other hunter in America knows. It will keep you and your loved ones infinitely safer."

Mick ducked his head, face still carefully blank. This is not the plan. A talk with the boy and then back to America to his family, hopefully after giving them the information they need.

Keeping Dean Winchester's son wasn't the agreement.

Questions and curiosity burned in those intelligent brown eyes, but there is also a hunger, a desperation, like they hold answers to questions he'd never voice. Such as, what would the world be like if the monsters and demons were brought to heel.

"We are in London, Benjamin. There are no monsters here. We take care of them as soon as they arrive with wards and spells all around the harbors and airports. Mr. Ketch and his associates are dispatched to take care of them. We have knowledge and technologies that would surprise you," Dr. Hess told Ben, laying it on thick, but Ben didn't mind.

"We have had a monster-related death since the 70s. Our depository fills miles and miles of bookshelves, that would make your uncle drool and your father's eyes glaze over and shoulders slump with dread." Dr. Hess shared a grin with the boy, knowing Dean's reticence to research and reading. "Imagine Krissy and Claire having access to all that knowledge, to our weapons, and imagine within ten years, America being monster free. Your children will have no reason to fear the dark. Your friends could live a normal, happy, _safe_ life."

That hunger, the desperation Dr. Hess clocked earlier, returned full force. The boy lost his blank mask as his mind reeled with the image she painted for him. He's young, and suffered so much loss. The hard sell isn't needed. He just needs a soft, gentle push.

Mick relaxed. Yes, this is a much better plan.

Ben bit his lip in thought. "In a decade, America will be monster free?" he asked for clarification. Dr. Hess nodded. "But what about the angels and demons? How are you going to get rid of them? You do that, and what will happen to Castiel?"

"Your father's angel will not be harmed," Dr. Hess promised, her eyes flicking to Mick's, and he read her real intent there and nodded back. He understood. "As for the demons, we'll make it so they'd rather appear somewhere else. Unfortunately, the only person who could keep the demons away, is the Prophet of the Lord and the demon tablet, and the last one died in your father and uncle's care. We have yet to identify the next Prophet."

"But once you do, you'll be able to expel demons from America?"

"Yes. Convincing the next Prophet to banish demons should be relatively easy."

"And you'll do the same for the angels? But what does that mean for Castiel? He's family. Do you have a contingency plan for the angels?" Ben asked rapid-fire. "What if the other hunters won't cooperate? What then? How are you going to get rid of all the monsters if the American hunters won't help you? There is no way you have enough of your own to do a job of this magnitude."

Dr. Hess grinned in approval. The boy has a sharp mind. He will be magnificent once properly trained. She can see it. Their greatest prodigy.

"We will find a way, Benjamin. Don't doubt us," Dr. Hess assured him. She flicked a hand at Mick, who nodded and went to go get Ketch. "There will be hunters in America that are sick of the status quo, who want more than anything to have a win instead of the ever-incessant draw."

"But -" Ben started then broke off. He bit his lip again, emotions warring in his head.

Dr. Hess sensed now is the time to truly push. He's right on the precipice. One little nudge and he'll either be theirs or his Winchester genes will prevail and be a thorn in their side. She preferred the former. Such potential should not be wasted.

"Ben," her soft tone drew his lost and conflicted gaze to hers, and Dr. Hess allowed warmth to bleed into them. "You would not be an orphan if not for those monsters. You, Krissy and Claire should be in college, having fun and trying to figure out what you want to be. Not chasing after death in some misguided attempt to fix wrongs that should have never been. Stay and be trained, be our champion and erase monsters from your home land."

Ketch arrived silently, Mick behind him. They watched the scene in front of them with unreadable expressions.

Ben dropped his gaze from hers. "Why me? Why not Sam or Claire or Krissy? Why me?"

"Because you're a Winchester," Dr. Hess answered simply. "Your uncle is locked in old habits, but you, you Benjamin, are still young enough to listen and learn new ideas with an open mind. Plus, you are the son of Dean Winchester, one of the most revered and feared hunters in history. American history," she added when Ketch shifted angrily behind the boy. "The American hunters will be more receptive to our ideas with you by our side. Your last name holds a lot of power, and used right, we can save thousands of lives."

The fight went out of the boy's eyes, lowering them to the ground and his body went lax. Dr. Hess smirked triumphantly.

"Okay," he said tiredly. "I'll do it. I'll stay here and train with you guys."

"Good. You are making the right decision, Benjamin." Dr. Hess bestowed a grandmotherly smile on him, earning a small one in return. He's already starting to trust her. "Mick, will you escort our newest recruit to his quarters?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mick replied promptly, gesturing for Ben to follow.

The second the door shut behind the boy, Dr. Hess dropped her smile and fixed a severe look on Ketch. The interrogator held her gaze defiantly for a second then dropped it, bowing his head in submission.

"You will train the boy," she told him, ignoring his displeased look. "I want the best teaching him, and you are it, whether you like it or not. You will not alienate him. His resolve and trust are fragile. We must not lose or break it. Understand?" Ketch nodded. "You will become his hero, his idol ...his father-figure."

"I beg your pardon," Ketch blurted out. "His _father-figure_?"

"Yes. The boy never had a relationship with Dean. He's practically starving for a father. You will be it. Once you establish that relationship, the boy will never betray us. He will be ours. We need that connection or we will have already lost before we've established a foothold in America." Dr. Hess walked over and grabbed Ketch by the chin, pinning her eyes to his. "You will not fail."

Ketch had the audacity to smirk at her. "Have I ever?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"What's the point of Bevell interrogating Sam Winchester when we have the boy?" he asked, wrenching his chin free and changing the subject. "Why haven't you sent for her return?"

Dr. Hess smiled coldly. "The boy is new to hunting. Nomadic with Krissy Chambers for months. He has no idea the hierarchy of the hunter organization, but Sam does. The boy is leverage for Samuel's cooperation. What Winchester doesn't know, won't influence him."

Ketch grunted. "What if you need me across the ocean? Who will train the boy then? Surely you won't send him with me."

"Of course not. You will only be sent over if we have no other choice. Mick will be leaving tonight to back-up Bevell. He knows to call you only in an emergency," Dr. Hess told him. "Now, go. You have lesson plans ahead of you. And remember, Arthur," Hess said, using his first name to tell just how important this next bit is, "the boy needs to love you. You will become his hero. Erase the image of Dean Winchester as the omnipotent, all-caring father."

Ketch bowed his head and left the room as silently as he entered.

Dr. Hess turned her attention back to her desk covered with the Winchester files. She picked up Ben's junior year photo and stared at it, her mind already planning twenty steps ahead. The news of Dean Winchester's survival barely makes a bump in the road they're on. They'll inform the boy in time, preferably after he's already bonded with Ketch. He'll see it as another betrayal from his absentee father for not coming to find him.

Things will work out in the end. Dean's ineptitude as a father will only make the boy cling harder to Ketch, who she knows will do as told and make the boy admire and look up to him. Maybe even love him, if given enough time. Ketch will rise and succeed where Dean has only fallen and failed.

The boy will be theirs, and then America will follow.


	4. Chapter 4

Mick Davies shook his head despairingly. Leave it to Bevell to completely muck things up. All she had to do was get information out of Sam Winchester before letting him free, and that was before Dean's miraculous not-dying and the equally miraculous resurrection of Mary Winchester nee Campbell. That one, well, no one can account for all the variables in life, can they?

The plus side is that Mick is making strides to getting just a smidge of the Winchesters' trust, and the downside is that no American hunter will listen to him. Once they heard the Winchesters won't give him the time of day, they walk away before he even begins his spiel, and he worked real hard on it to.

Another plus side is that Ben Winchester is driving Ketch crazy back in London. He's sure Dean would love to hear that. If Mick could get a word in edgewise, that is.

The second the Winchester patriarch sees him, he demands information about his son, and when Mick doesn't comply, Winchester threatens him with bodily harm and disturbing details of what Winchester would do to him if they were in the Pit, a not-so-subtle reminder that Winchester survived 40 years in Hell; 30 years getting tortured and 10 years under the careful tutelage of Alistair, Hell's master of pain. Throw in Sam's equally I-will-kill-you-slowly looks and the angel Castiel's I-am-an-angel-of-the-Lord-please-screw-up-so-I-can-smite-you glares, and Mick would quite happily say that he'd rather be anywhere else.

Damn Bevell and her arrogance. Damn her and her idea to send the boy to London to be taught to be a Men of Letters, a true legacy. It's a good plan, if only _Mick_ was the one teaching the boy instead of Ketch. Ketch is a good attack dog, nothing else. Mick could teach the Winchester boy and earn his trust instead of trying in vain to convince the American hunters they, the British, know best.

It's be easier if they just wiped the American hunters out and start over with the next generation, Ben Winchester's generation. They're still young enough to mold into more efficient hunters, and with schooling, become Men of Letters as well. Krissy Chambers and Claire Novak being perfect examples of what the next generation of hunters are capable of.

Ben is good, a natural, but even he needed help finding his way and those two girls groomed him to be the best, even if they didn't know just how amazing the boy could be. Under Ketch, he will flourish and become the best recruit they've ever had.

If Ketch could quit butting heads with the boy.

Checking his watch, Mick sighed. Another hunter standing him up. This is the fifth hunter to not show up and Mick is getting sick of it. Don't they understand that he's trying to offer them a world, an America, where monsters are wiped out? That they could live normal lives without so much death. Why won't they just _listen_?

A rush of air and the bell ringing above the diner door draws Mick's attention at the sudden shift in the air. _Hunter_. Blonde hair and brown eyes assess the diner in one glance, checking the exits and other occupants before settling on Mick. Suspicion and wariness war with curiosity and a bone-tired exhaustion he's seen on many hunters stare at him.

Mick gestured for her to sit across the booth from him. Sliding into her seat, Mary Winchester clasped her hands on the Formica table top, and stared at him expectantly.

Right. The sales pitch. He opens his mouth to speak only to stop. The speech won't work with her. Not really. Some of it, it will resonate with her, but he'll need something to bring her in, to make her see that he's not lying.

"Do you want this life for your grandson?" Mick asks bluntly, and he sees her eyes widen in surprise before darkening with an unidentifiable emotion. Mick leaned forward, urging her to listen. "I don't think you do. You can't do anything for your sons, but Ben - Ben can have a life without monsters and death nipping at his heels because of who his father is. Because of his last name. Save him from what your boys went through."

Mick leaned back, exhaustion tugging at his mind. Mary stared at him, face neither agreeing or disagreeing, but still open and willing to hear him out.

"Look, I can spin you a tale of how if you work with us, that within just a few short years, we could rid America of monsters, of making demon possessions practically nonexistent, but I won't. As much as you want to hear it, it's not enough for you, Mary Winchester, and what you want to hear isn't possible. Not for you. But it is for Ben." A thought hits Mick. "Do you even know what your grandson looks like?" Mary's expression flickers. "Do you want to?" Her eyes widen then narrow and her lips part in indecision. "I have photos. A file, really. Of him and his mother. Would you like to see it?"

Mary's hands clench tightly, knuckles turning white. She exhales shakily, and she finally looks away from him to stare out the dirty diner window. Mick can see the war inside her mind, of the arguments in favor of having one photo of her soul surviving grandchild.

Family means everything to the Winchesters. Even if her boys are, physically, older than her, Mary will still have that connection to Ben. That urge to protect him.

"Just the photo," Mary says after a while. Mick nods and pulls out Ben's photo from his pocket. He's had it on him in hopes that one of the Winchesters would hear him out. It's recent. Taken for his ID at the Men of Letters training school. He's scowling heavily in it, but Mick thinks Mary won't even notice.

The sharp intake and shaky hands has Mick biting back a triumphant smile. _Gotcha_.

"He-he," Mary breaks off, holding the photo carefully. Mick knows what she's thinking: he looks just like Dean. Closing her eyes, Mary brings the photo to her chest, and watery eyes flick open and stare at him glacially. "Is he safe?"

Mick nodded. "He was never in danger."

Eyes closing again, Mary held the only photo she had of her grandson like it was made of fragile glass. Her thumb brushed over Ben's face, grief clogged her throat and an ache she couldn't identify beat against her heart painfully. Leaving her boys so she could find her way in this century was hard enough, but seeing her grandson, her son's son, glaring up at her hit her hard. He looks so much like Dean.

The diner's background noise swelled and Mick watched Mary grieve over what she lost and then glare at him in a fashion that made him very nervous. Bevell had looked at him once when he came to her daughter's school to talk with her. It's the look mother's seem to learn when their child is in danger.

"Where is he?" The question is carefully asked, but the look in her eyes has Mick swallowing nervously.

"Safe," he answers truthfully. "Learning."

"Learning what?"

"How to be a proper hunter."

Mary snorts. "Bring him home." The photo is placed very carefully in a worn, leather journal.

"I can't. He made a deal with my boss. He is to stay in London and go to school for two months, and, if he decides to continue his education, Ben will be given permission to contact his father and explain his situation," Mick explained. "We're not keeping him prisoner, Mary. He's quite well."

"But he can't leave for two months?" Mick nodded. "How is that any different than being help prisoner?"

Sighing, Mick gestured for a refill to the waitress. She nodded and brought over a fresh coffee carafe. Mary shook her head when the woman looked to her to see if she wanted anything. The waitress left, and Mick took a careful sip of coffee. He grimaced. Bleh. Coffee. Mary smirked at his expression.

Taking another grimacing sip, Mick said, "We gave him options. He could be immediately taken back to the States and to his uncle, or he could stay and learn his duties as a Legacy for two months. Ben agreed to stay. It's only been a week, Mary." Mick pushed the coffee cup to the hunter. He can't drink it anymore. "Don't you want him to learn about hunting and the creatures he kills? Would you want him going into a situation where he has no idea what he's hunting, with minimal skills he's learned from other hunters his age? It's pure luck nothing hasn't gotten the drop on him. I suspect it's due to beginner's luck and natural instincts."

"Natural instincts?" Mary repeated dubiously.

Mick nodded. "Yes. Natural instincts. The boy _is_ good, no matter what you and your sons think. Ben is a natural hunter, born for this life. His path was chosen for him when Dean found him all those years ago. Just like your boys' path was chosen when you made that deal with Azazel."

If the diner table wasn't between them, Mick suspects Mary's gun would be pointed at his head and her knife at his throat with his back against a wall and him on tip toes to keep the blade from digging into his skin. But since there was a table between them, Mary had to settle for a glare that had Mick's blood curdling and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and fucking run away without him.

"I'll be quiet now," Mick mumbled, and picked at the tabletop.

He didn't look up until he felt the air around him and Mary thaw ever so slightly. Mick looked up to see Mary boring a hole into his head, her eyes locked on to his, and the diner fell away into nothing. He couldn't hear the other patrons or the noise from the kitchen or see the servers moving about in their own graceful ballet. His focus captured by Mary, and she leaned forward.

"I'll help you, but I want daily updates on my grandson. There doesn't have to be any contact between us, I just want to know how he's doing." Mick nodded his acquiescence, and Mary dipped her chin in acknowledgment. "And I want you to do the same thing for Dean. I know you have his number. Just send him the same updates as you do me. You do that, and I swear I will help you in your mission, and I'll even help convince other hunters. But that is only if you keep your word. One missed update and I'm gone."

Well, when put like that, Mick and the others really don't have a choice. At least until Ketch earns Ben's trust and the boy is truly on their side. There is no way the Council will be mad at him for making this deal with a willing Winchester.

"Deal," Mick said, holding his hand out for Mary to shake.

Mary grabbed it, her grip tight and unrelenting, a taste of strength that had a curl of heat pool in his stomach. She let his hand go and got up, leaving him sitting in the booth with no way to get in contact with her. A piece of paper sitting under the coffee cup reveals to be Mary's cell number. Huh. He didn't even see her write or slip the paper under the cup. Admiration of her skill has Mick smiling slightly. She is good.

One Winchester down, one on his way to trusting them, and then Sam and Dean. America will come to heel. It's for the best, really.

Sam bit his lip as he once more looked for Ben. The explanation Mick Davies gave them about Ben choosing to stay at the London Chapter house to train to be a proper Legacy did and did not ring true to the brothers, but with their mother abandoning them within weeks of her resurrection through them for a loop. And Sam is focusing on finding Ben and bringing him home. Dean needs him. They all do.

His older brother has taken to walking the hallways, lingering outside Ben's room, hand raised to touch the door but always backing off and continuing his pacing. The first time Sam saw his brother's face outside Ben's room, it cut him deep. It's been a while since Sam saw that lost, broken look on his brother's face. The sight scared him. When Dean's lost, he does something drastic in an attempt to find his footing or at least a reason to keep on going. Lucifer is his brother's goal right now. Capture and shove his ass back into the cage is Dean's mission. That's something he can control.

The bunker is starting to feel like a tomb. The brothers are always left behind by the people they call family. Even the brothers are prone to leaving each other, and Sam is worried that Dean will leave him alone in the bunker while he tries to fix his crumbling foundation.

Ben needs to be brought home. Training be damned.

So, here Sam is trying to find where the chapter house is located to get his wayward nephew back. Once Sam finds that information, he'll take it to Dean, who will book them a flight to London, and then their family will be whole again. The little boy in him has Sam thinking that once Ben is back, Mom will come back as well, and that Cas won't leave them again. He and Dean can have a family for real.

The sound of Dean's pacing ebbs and flows as the night progresses. Sam keeps half an ear on Dean while keeping his attention on trying to find Ben. Bevell, Mick said, got called back to London for going beyond her mission parameters and hurting Sam, and for scary lady going after Dean and the others. That means that Bevell left the same way she came in. He just has to find the route she took, the car she got into outside the airport, and find a way to hack the CCTV in London to track her. It's proving to be a bitch to follow through. Every firewall he cracks, ten more pop up.

Cas appears next to Sam like he used to: out of nowhere. Damn angel needs a bell.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked, tilting his head slightly, an oddly nostalgic move that has Sam feeling a little emotional. Gah. Maybe Dean's right and he _is_ a girl.

Flushing, Sam shook his head and cleared his throat. "It's nothing."

"You're trying to find Ben." Astute. Of course he is. Anything Dean related and Cas is on it. It's a little adorable, and yes, Sam just thought his friend, a badass angel, as adorable. Fuck Sam's life.

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands.

"Davies said that Ben will be returned to us in two months. It's only been two weeks," Cas pointed out.

Sam scowled in response. "I know, but..."

"Dean needs him," the angel finished solemnly. "As do you."

Sam didn't bother to respond to that. He kept hacking until he could hack no more. Cas periodically brought him sustenance in one form or another while simultaneously checking in on Dean. Multi-tasker, thy name is Castiel. Poor angel has enough experience with the both of them to know what to do blindfolded and deafened and he wouldn't miss a beat.

Occasionally, Dean would come into the library, grunt or sneer at Sam, an anger neither brother can explain rising inside the Righteous Man. Cas' presence seems to keep Dean from truly tearing into Sam, and it's not like Sam would defend himself against his brother's anger. There has to be a reason, and Sam would bet his soul that it has to do with Ben. How can it not? Dean asked Sam to do one thing, and Sam failed not even an hour after making the promise. And if it's not Ben then it's something else that Sam has no doubt is actually his fault. No conciliatory words from Castiel on Dean's behalf will change Sam's mind.

This must be how Dean felt last year. Find Ben and everything will be all right. Save Cas and everything will be all right. Take out Amara and everything will be just fine.

...Let mom have her space and everything will work out in the end.

Just wait and see, Sammy, Dean would say, a smile on his face and no doubt in his mind that he's right. But that was when they were kids. Back in time when they seriously only had to wait for Dad to come back and their lives would find balance once more. Dad would come back and the weight of taking care of Sam on his own would lift off of Dean's shoulders, and the fear that he and Dean will be orphans leeches out of Sam, and they're just two boys who are happy their father is back home, hale and whole.

Things were, unbelievably, simpler back then. No demons. No angels. No prophecies. What Sam would give for their dad to walk down those stairs and fix everything.

"Dad would know what to do," Sam said softly to himself. Or so he thought.

He didn't see Dean standing in the war room listening in. He didn't see his older brother seemingly crumble within himself at Sam's words. Castiel did, and he didn't know what to do. Does he admonish Sam for his thoughtless words or does he tell Dean that Sam did not mean to cast doubt at Dean's ability to fix their family?

Either way, he won't win. One of the brothers will undoubtedly fill themselves with self-loathing and self-recrimination if Cas approaches either one to talk to. He knows the brothers too well.

Sam scraped his chair in the library as he got up to stretch, sending Dean silently fleeing and Castiel to chase after him just as quietly. Sam swore he saw two shadows in the war room but another look told him he was seeing things. Of the tired kind, not the I'm-going-crazy kind. Sam hates that kind of seeing things thing.

Blinking at his last sentence, Sam huffed a laugh and rubbed his eyes. Okay. Time for bed.

A good nights rest and he'll be up for round two. He's going to find the London chapter house, and he's going to bring Ben home, and hopefully, that'll be the catalyst for Mary to return soon after. Dean's right. They need their family. It's so tiring just being him and Dean, and now Cas against the world.

Find Ben, find Mom, and Dean will be happy. That's Sam's new mission. Reunite their family and everything will be okay.

It has to be.


	5. Chapter 5

Ben smirked at Ketch's angry face. Two weeks and it is so easy pushing the older man's buttons. The amount of awe and fear that surrounds the man had Ben second guessing his decision to push until Ketch snaps, but the more time Ben spent around the older man, the more Ben is realizing Ketch _can't_ hurt him. Or won't. Both? Whatever. The point is, Ketch holds himself back from punishing Ben, and Ben cannot figure out why.

Crassus Leander, a recruit Ben has befriended says it must be on the Council's orders for Ketch not to hurt Ben, and when Ben asked why that is, Crassus had no answer. Not even a hypothesis.

Since Ben and Crassus are the same age, they got paired up for every lesson, and it evolved into a friendship. Crassus is definitely one of the best recruits at the Chapter-house. He really knows his lore and fighting techniques, and best of all, he's taken Ben under his wing without being asked. Ben prefers training with Crassus than Ketch. Although, Crassus says he'd be a fool not to learn what he can from the Men of Letters' master interrogator.

What's he going to learn from a man that has two facial expressions?

That's what Ben first thought but after spending every day with the man, and watching him go through the fighting stances he wants Ben to learn, Ben can see just how deadly the older man is. There is no wasted movement with Ketch. Every move, every breath is calculated, and he makes it look completely natural.

Ketch does not let Ben have a moment of relaxation. It's all training or studying, and Ketch only allows Ben and Crassus' friendship because he's a good partner for Ben, and he keeps Ben from lazing about. Because apparently that's a bad thing here.

What Ben would give for a day to just breathe. To acclimate to his new environment. Is that too much to ask for?

Dr. Hess frequently looked in on Ben and his lessons, an enigmatic look on her face as she watched Ben train. Sometimes she would frown at the closeness between Ben and Crassus, and an uneasy feeling fluttered into existence. He didn't like the frown. Especially when Ben began to realize Dr. Hess wasn't frowning at him but at Crassus. An instinct told him if he didn't pull back from the other teen, something bad will happen to his only friend in this country. But that's easier said than done. Crassus doesn't sneer at him or look at him like he's an idiot for not knowing something everyone else learned when they were kids. No. Crassus walks him through whatever has him stumbling until Ben gets it then he moves on to Ben's other knowledge gaps.

Outside of Krissy and Claire, Ben hasn't really made a friend since before he and his mother moved from CIcero, indiana. Crassus is the closest thing he has to a friend without any romantic feelings popping up.

It's nice. Normal even.

Ketch slaps Ben upside the head to get him to pay attention to today's lesson of identifying a Rawhead's weakness. Electricity, duh, but Ben's response earns him another head slap and a hissed order to pay attention. To use the brains he undoubtedly inherited from his mother because God knows his father is next to useless in the brain's department.

Ben has an inkling, just an inkling, mind you, that Ketch does not like his father. Just a hunch, really.

Snorting to himself, Ben nodded at the older man and focused more on today's lesson, and shoved all thoughts of meeting up with Crassus after supper to the back of his mind. Two head slaps in less than a minute will not bode well for his poor noggin if he continues to push Ketch. Maybe the older man might actually snap and either kill Ben or send him to the - to hospital, as they say here in London. Either way, it'll ruin his plans to meet up with Crassus.

After three excruciating hours of theoretical lessons on Rawheads, ghouls, shapeshifters, demons and, holy shit, fairies. Ketch went over everything twice. Twice! Ben is dying to eat and to complain to Crassus.

"We have weapons training after dinner," Ketch told Ben, and Ben cannot be blamed for the whine that followed that particular statement.

"Aw! Come on, Ketch," Ben cried. "You said we were doing weapons training tomorrow. You said I can take the evening off."

"That was before you stopped listening to me and focusing more on Crassus than your lessons," Ketch replied, a dark look on his face. He turned around and started putting today's lesson plan back into his satchel. "And if I were you," he said, not turning around, "I'd stay clear of Leander, if you know what's best for him - you. If you know what's best for you."

With those parting words, Ketch sweeps out of the room, leaving a very confused Ben in his wake. What the hell does that mean?

Ben took off after him, catching the older man just as he exited the building.

"Wait," Ben said, reaching out to grab Ketch's arm. "What did you mean by that? You gonna hurt Crassus?" Ben got into Ketch's space, trying to channel his father's intimidation strategy. He's seen it work before. On humans. Probably not as effective on supernatural beings but it'll work for now. "Would you hurt Crassus because we're friends? Because for the first time since the angels fell that I feel the closest to normal, and you can't even let him have this because you're jealous of my father?"

Oh shit. Ben barely had time to even think of jerking back when Ketch's hand wrapped around his lapel and forced him backward against the stone wall of the building. The anger radiating off of Ketch had Ben feeling scared of the older man, that he may have pushed too hard this time.

"Do not compare me to your father, Benjamin," Ketch hissed, his face mere centimeters away from Ben's. "If I had a child, I would have never left him nor his mother alone without protection. When your father left you and Lisa Braeden, he left without implementing even the slightest protection wards around the two of you. It left you vulnerable. I would have never done that."

Ketch let Ben go but stayed in Ben's face.

"I'm trying to do what your father and uncle refused," Ketch snarled. "I'm trying to teach you how to protect yourself and others from supernatural creatures and beings that would love to tear your flesh and feast upon you because of who your father is. _I_ am the one here doing my damnedest to make sure you have the skills to say alive. I could be in America with my compatriots trying to help you American hunters find a better way, but I chose to stay behind so I can teach you because I am the best, Benjamin. You have talent. You are born for this life, and like hell am I going to let you die because you're unprepared."

Ketch pulled away, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his anger in check. He took a look at Ben, who met his gaze and held it without flinching. Grudging respect rippled through Ketch at the boy's bravery. Taking a deep breath, Ketch stepped closer again, and pinned Ben in his place with a well aimed glare.

"I will make you this promise, Ben, if you keep up with your studies and your training, then I swear I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

That - That. Ben couldn't even form a coherent thought.

He cupped the back of Ben's head and brought it close to Ketch's. "Your mother's fate will not be yours," Ketch promised, pressing their foreheads together briefly, then he walked away.

Crassus found Ben still standing there long after dinner bell rang and free hour began. He approached Ben like a skittish feral animal, his hand out in a non-threatening manner, and when it looked like Ben wasn't going to snap or breakdown, Crassus grabbed Ben's hand and pulled the other teen in for a hug.

Is it sad that this is the best hug he's had in a long while? Better than his dad's and Krissy's.

Mainly because Crassus is hugging him because he wants Ben to feel better, and not because he's the reason Ben is sad in the first place. It's a novel experience. No fight or harsh words that forced the other person to soothe the hurt they caused - just Crassus wanting Ben to feel better without any pressure or ulterior motive.

Ben pulled himself together, if still a little rattled by Ketch's words. Did he mean it? Is he pushing Ben so hard because he truly does not want Ben to die like his mother before him, or his paternal grandparents? Is Ketch telling the truth or is it just the fastest way for the older man to earn Ben's trust and confidence?

The questions Ben willfully shoved to the back of his mind came to the fore, shouting and shoving, doing their damnedest to get Ben's attention. Crassus' unique scent of old book and sea air, and, in all honesty, how he expected Sam to smell, but Sam smells like deep, rich earth and ice - seeps into Ben's mind and calms him. Ben finds that kind of hilarious because Sam radiates warmth and compassion. Not ice. He should smell like earth and a campfire.

What was Ben thinking about again? Oh, right! He thinks he likes being hugged by Crassus. There's a strength in the other teen's arms, and he's holding Ben like he'll never let anything happen to him, not if he could help it. It's unbelievably nice.

"I'm good," Ben said after a couple of minutes. He gently pulled away from Crassus, not able to look the other teen in the face. "Really," he added when Crassus held on, dipping his head to try and initiate eye contact but Ben has gotten good at avoiding such a thing.

His friend reluctantly let him go, but Ben knows Crassus won't give up until Ben answers him.

Three weeks and Crassus knows him just as well as Krissy and Claire. Maybe even more. It could be because Ben instinctively trusts Crassus whereas Krissy and Claire it took him longer to suss out whether or not he even liked them, let alone trust.

Plus, you know, Ben had feelings for the both of them. He had to separate those feelings to stop them from influencing his actions.

"I miss my girlfriend," blurts Ben, and Crassus stiffens at the admission. "Not even sure she's still my girlfriend, to be honest." He shot a broken smile at Crassus. "My life back in the States sucks, man. You have no idea. I've only been playing at Hunter for a year or so. Maybe a little bit more."

A bell rings in the distance, echoing throughout the campus, signalling others that it's time to turn in or be punished for being out without permission. They're very strict here. It's driving Ben a little crazy with all these rules. No school he's ever been to had ever been this strict. Not even that private school he attended for a brief second back in junior high had this many rules and regulations. Not even close, and that school didn't have people who knew how to kill you without breaking a sweat or leave any evidence, or trained people how to kill without breaking sweat or leave any evidence behind.

It's like those graphic novels about a university or school or whatever that teaches its students how to be assassins. This is what this place feels like. They're teaching a future generation of monster assassins and magic users and knowledge seekers.

Ben's life is a fantasy book. Complete with dragons and fairies, ogres and trolls, mermaids and naiads, angels and demon, and a warrior princess that Ben falls in love with after three seconds of meeting her and seeing her in action. And a best friend who Ben would kill to protect, and will kill to protect Ben.

Crassus and Claire. Ben and Krissy. They're the protagonists in this story. They're the heroes. There is no need for fathers and uncles who abandon their other family members on a whim. Or selfishly save each other and damn everyone else.

Ben reached out and grabbed Crassus' hand, ignoring the tenseness radiating off of his friend, and said, "I won't let Dr. Hess or Ketch hurt you."

The last of the final bell rang out, and Crassus, after an agonizing five seconds, smiles and grips back. "I know you won't," he says confidently. "I knew from the moment I saw you, we'd be the best of friends. Why do you think I didn't argue against training with the new recruit?

Ben laughed and let go. Crassus looked pleased with himself at making Ben forget his worries for a moment.

"So, when do you think you'll tell me why I found you almost catatonic?" Crassus asked. He leaned against the wall next to Ben, his body heat close, and Ben shivered, realizing he's freezing. "And don't tell me it was because you miss your...girlfriend either."

Shrugging, Ben leaned into Crassus, ignoring his look of distaste at Krissy's designation in Ben's life. "Dunno. Soon-ish." Because he will. Ben doesn't want to lie to his friend. It feels wrong, somehow.

"I'll take it. We should go before we're caught out after curfew."

The two of them set off in a jog, skillfully dodging guards and other late recruits. The skills that Ketch and Crassus have been pounding into his head are really paying off. Ben can blend in the shadows and a crowed easily, all the while carrying weapons, that if caught, will have Ben in jail for a decade or so. Depends on the judge, or so Crassus says, and Ben trusts the other teen with his life.

They split up by the dorms, Crassus still has some distance to go, and Ben has the impulse to make sure he gets back okay, but one look at Crassus' raised eyebrow has biting back the urge. Of course, the other teen knows what he's thinking.

"Good luck," Ben whispers before sneaking up the steps and into the building without making nary a sound, and Ben can't help but feel a little proud of himself at not getting caught.

Until he turned on his light and found Dr. Hess waiting for him in his dorm room.

Shit.


	6. Chapter 6

"We need to talk, Ben," Dr. Hess says, pinning him with her icy stare. The severe expression on her face has Ben's hackles rising and fear clawing at his throat, but like hell is he going to show just how fucking terrified he is.

Ben crossed his arms and tilted his chin defiantly. "I'm listening," he said, neither respectful nor belligerent. He's not doing anything until she says why she's here.

A small smirk appeared on Dr. Hess' face and she dipped her head oh-so-slightly, proud of Ben's response, and the confusing Do's and Don't's of this school will never not discombobulate Ben. Dr. Hess moved to sit at Ben's study desk, her gaze expectant, and Ben strides, not stumbles, no matter how much his legs want to give out from underneath him, and sits on his bed. He faces Dr. Hess, patiently waiting for her to explain why she's in his dorm, after curfew, and no Ketch in tow.

"I'm moving up your training," Hess says. "The situation in America is not going as well as we hoped, and we might have to send Ketch over there sooner than expected. Ketch has one week to get you as far as he can in your training before we send him to help out Davies and the others." Dr. Hess looked mildly put out at sending Ketch away. She looked at Ben steadily. "I'd rather not send him but your family is proving to be a handful. As is your girlfriend and friends. They refuse to listen to Davies, stubborn like your father and uncle, and they won't do a thing until your father and uncle come to a decision.

"According to Davies, Sam is on the fence, and your grandmother has agreed to help us out. Unfortunately, the Campbells died out, and so did their name and reputation. Everything lies on the Winchesters. We win them over and we win the American hunters over. We can't win your father and uncle over until they get you back, and I'd really rather not send you back with your training barely complete." Hess sighed and relaxed her shoulders, her version of slumping. There is a tiredness around her that pulls at Ben's heartstrings. An intentional move to earn his sympathy? With this place, Ben can never tell.

Unsure what to do or say, Ben reaches over and pulls open his left desk drawer and pulls out a Snickers bar, offering it to the doctor. Hess takes it with a bemused smile.

"Thank you," she says a little uncertainly. It's been a long while since someone, anyone really, gave her something without an ulterior motive. In this organization, weakness is death, and not all deaths are caused by supernatural means. Other ambitious organization members would leap at the chance to tear her down because they think they deserve to be on the Council instead of her. But Ben, this American boy, is giving her something out of kindness. Not even her own grandchildren would do something so selfless or altruistic. Not for her, at least.

Hess watched the boy make eye contact with her, and she saw no trace of pity or sympathy. The move must have been automatic. Ingrained kindness. Lisa Braeden raised a good man. She should be proud of the son she raised.

The words are out of Hess' mouth before she could stop them. "You're a better man than your father. He doesn't deserve you."

Mortified at the uncharacteristic openness, Hess cleared her throat and tore into the candy bar. Where he got it, is beyond her. She hadn't signed off on any excursions into the city for him to track down any American candy. There is a tinge of pride at the boy's ability to get what he wants, without her or the others finding out how he did it. Common sense would say that it was Crassus Leander who got it for the boy. They are unusually close. Bonded quickly and deeply within their first week of meeting one another. Paired up, they could be better than Ketch. More efficient, and if she and the rest of Council allows it, could forever bind Ben to them.

Even if their endeavor to bring America to heel fails, they'll still have the Winchester heir by their side, and that'll be a blow to Sam and Dean, no matter if they won.

"You won't be around Leander while you train with Ketch. After he leaves, you will resume your regular schedule with Leander, but not before then. It's imperative you learn what you can from Ketch." Ben nodded at her pointed look. He can do that. "After that, we'll have you for one more month before you are sent back to America." Hess offered the last bit to Ben, who took it without hesitation. "If you want to be sent back. There is no pressure. Not from us, and not from your father."

Saying what she needed to say, Dr. Hess got up and strode out the dorm room. Ben watched her go, mind whirring over what just happened. He could have sworn he saw something akin to gratefulness at Ben handing her a damn chocolate bar because he's not emotionally mature enough to know how to act, but that's insane right? From what he's learned about the Council, Dr. Hess seems like the toughest one of the bunch. He _had_ to have imagined it. Had to've.

It'd be too weird otherwise. Land of the Bizarro weird. And uncomfortable. Like, really uncomfortable.

"This is...a weird night," Ben says to the empty room. First Ketch then Dr. Hess saying they don't want any harm to come to him, but also warning him to stay away from Crassus for the time being. His dad doesn't deserve him, his dad doesn't care about him - not really - and he's the best shot the British Men of Letters have at showing America a new way of doing things. This all just a little too much right now.

He collapses back on his bed, boots hanging off the edge of the bed and his body contorted slightly so he could fit without having to move that much. He thinks he can sleep like this, contorted like a cat but his back might not like him very much come morning.

Sighing deeply, Ben sat back up and started undoing the laces on his standard issue black combat boots before pulling them off with a grunt. Next were his black cargo pants, because one can never have too much pockets, and they slipped free as soon as he undid the belt. They have yet to find Ben's size, and they're either too tight to the point where he can't breathe right or sit down or too loose and he needs a belt to keep them up without looking like an idiot with saggy pants.

The last to come off is his standard issue black t-shirt. It's black on black on black on black. Even his underwear and socks are black, for some dumb reason. Ben suspects that if they could come up with a plausible reason, the school would have them dye their hair black, too. "Better to hide in the dark," they say, but Ben calls bullshit. If they all look alike, that'll draw attention, and drawing attention is B-A-D.

Forgoing taking off his underwear and sleeping in the nude, that one time Crassus walked in on him buck ass nude had been memorable, Ben crawled under the flimsy blanket that was a godsend during hot spells. Within minutes of closing his eyes, Ben was asleep and woken up rudely by Ketch at 4 A. M. for training.

"You suck," Ben told him as he rolled out of bed. Ketch snorted in amusement. "Weapons training?" asked Ben before yawning loudly.

"That, and others," Ketch said vaguely. "No Leander."

Sighing, Ben nodded. "I know. Dr. Hess already said. Let's just get to work." And before you leave, you're going to tel l me why I have to distance myself for him. Just you watch.

For seven days and nights, Ben trains his ass off, and what little baby fat he had left is gone. Replaced by new found muscle that Ben knows Krissy wouldn't mind admiring at her leisure. It's exhausting as fuck, but so worth it. Ben now understands why he was sent to Ketch to train. That man is truly good at what he does. There is a darkness in him, but who in this school, doesn't have a little bit of darkness in them? It goes hand in hand with knowing about the dark, about monsters and demons, and killing creatures that look and sound like they're human.

Sleep comes easily, as does waking up at the slightest change in atmosphere, another skill Ketch says is vital to his continued existence. He says there are creatures out there that can blend in with the rustle of the wind and the natural shadows of the night. Knowing when you're not alone is the difference between life and death.

Crassus kept his distance from Ben, undoubtedly knowing that him coming anywhere near Ben will result in his expulsion, or worse. It still doesn't stop Ben from missing him like crazy.

There are numerous plus sides to Hell Week, as Ben likes to think of it, reminding him of high school basketball. Ben can load and re-load any style of gun in record time, know how to handle any bladed weapon, and can cast spells just as quick as he can disassemble a gun. He's learned to keep spell ingredients on his person, just in case, and his Classical Latin has improved tremendously. Ketch would love to teach him more but the Council is adamant he be sent to America _now_. Apparently, Ben's dad is causing some ripples that require Ketch's particular touch.

Which Ben translated into, the Winchesters let some creature, or three, go and now Ketch has to go clean it up and try and get them to see the British way is better.

The American in Ben bristles at the implication that they're doing it wrong, but after a month in London, Ben can see just how much better it is here. Hell, Ben even got dispatched, with Ketch, to take care of a Selkie arriving on the shore. It bothered Ben to see it in its human skin but the second Ketch finagled the skin away from the Selkie, Ben had no problem killing it then. The people in Europe don't really have to fear the dark. They have no cause to. Not really.

Dr. Hess' words of creating a better life for him and Krissy, and Claire and the others, doesn't sound so far-fetched anymore. He sees that it can happen. That it's possible and within reach. How can the other American hunters not see that? How can they not understand that they could have a better, safer life if they just listened to the British Men of Letters? There are other countries out there, with their own chapter houses, that are either well on their way to becoming monster free or are already monster free. America could be the next in line to become so. Krissy and Claire would be safe. Alex, Jody, and Logan and Maria, they could all be safe. No fear of things that go bump-in-the-night. No demons or angels to raise havoc.

Ben can see it clearly now, and he wants it more than anything, but there is something bothering him.

"Why didn't you guys step in earlier?" Ben asked Ketch during a rare break in training. "You could have stopped my dad and uncle from ruining everything. Why didn't you guys stop them?"

Ketch sighed heavily. He looked at Ben, no irritation or impatience in his gaze. It's a marked difference since they started training in earnest. He's had more patience with Ben. More open too. Ben likes this Ketch more than the angry, aggressive Ketch.

"Because we believe in cleaning up your own messes, and your father and uncle have done so, but at the cost of great losses of life. They could have ended things so much sooner if they weren't so co-dependent. Their decisions of family above all else, put the world and others at great risk. After the Darkness incident, the Council felt that it was finally time to step in before your family brings about the true end of the world," Ketch said. He handed Ben a sip of water.

Ben frowned, taking a drink. "I wish you guys had stepped in sooner." His mom would be alive. "You could have stopped the angels from falling. You could have stopped the demons coming after me and my mom."

"Ben," Ketch says slowly, his mind buzzing, sensing he might have just broken through to the boy, and he is now trusting him. Finally. And not a moment too soon. He's leaving in two days for America. "I'm not sure that would have happened. Neither your father nor your uncle has ever heard of the Men of Letters. There is no way they would have trusted us, but believe me when I say, that if I could have saved your mother, I would have." And it's true. If only to earn the boy's trust.

Sighing, Ben leaned briefly against Ketch before pulling away and getting to his feet. "I know. You would have kept us safe," he said confidently, staring at Ketch with an unidentifiable look, and Ketch's heart rate spiked in excitement. "You would have succeeded where Dean failed."

Ketch watched the boy head down to the pitch for his next bout of training. Following, Ketch allowed a bit of indulgence of triumph. Finally, the boy trusts him, believes him to be better than his father. If he just had the remainder of the boy's stay here, Ketch knows he could fully make the boy his. No amount of familial bond would turn the boy against him.

"You'll come back after you sort things out in America?" The boy wouldn't look at him, and Ketch responded as honestly as he can with, "Of course. I still got to train my protege."

The boy grinned at him, beamed, really.

"You will do me proud while I'm gone," Ketch said seriously, and the boy nodded earnestly. "Train hard, Ben. We'll need you soon in America, but I want you well trained before that happens. Listen to Leander. Listen to your instructors."

"Yes, sir," Ben replies smartly.

Ketch smiles then strikes out with an open palm. The boy slaps it away and kicks out at Ketch's knees. Then the fight is on.

Outsiders would see two men going at each other full throttle, moving in an intricate dance, and wincing when either of them made contact. On and on this dance went, none of the observers able to tell who is winning or even if winning is the point. Many began to realize the younger of the two combatants was the young Winchester boy, and were grudgingly impressed at the boy's fighting skill, especially after the realization that the boy is fighting Arthur Ketch, their most distinguished graduate and . . . hunter. No one is better than Ketch, but the boy is giving the older man a run for his money.

Crassus watched with the others, a small, private yet proud smile on his face. Ben is magnificent. He traded blow for blow, learning from mistakes as quickly as they happened. This is why Ben was recruited, and this is why Crassus didn't argue against partnering up with the American hunter. He knew from the second he saw Ben, that he would be damn good at learning to be a Legacy and a Hunter. Born for it, he's overheard many times in the past four weeks, and Crassus believes it wholeheartedly, and now he has proof.

Dr. Hess appears next to Crassus, not saying a word, but Crassus swears he sees pride on the Council member's face, and, maybe, triumph as well. A dark triumph. It sends a ripple of unease through Crassus' body, and he's worried about Ben for the first time.

"You'll take care of him, Crassus," Dr. Hess says suddenly, quietly. She turns her head and pins Crassus with her dark gaze. "We cannot lose him at this important crossroads. Once Ketch leaves, he'll be a little lost, but you'll be there to guide him back to the path. Remind him that he has friends here, a home."

Crassus nods jerkily. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

Nodding at him once, Dr. Hess takes her leave, and Crassus' legs give out from beneath him the second she's out of sight. The others stare at him oddly, but he doesn't care. His role in Ben's life just got bigger, the weight of what he has to do settles firmly on his shoulders. His fate is now tied with Ben's, and it's not as scary as Dr. Hess probably intended it to be. Instead, Crassus has to fight back a giddy smile. He and Ben will never be torn apart now. Crassus won't lose his friend, won't be separated from him unless absolutely necessary. It's more than he could have ever hoped for.

Not even Krissy can come between them now.

Crassus' smile grows wider. No. Not even Krissy Chambers can come between them. She won't be able to take Ben from him, and Ben won't leave him for her. He can do this.

Ben's cry of pain pulls Crassus to his feet and down to the pitch before he could think his actions through. Ketch has Ben pinned to the sand, a knife at his throat and his knee jabbing into the other boy's chest, and Crassus reacts without thinking, and he tackles Ketch off of Ben. He's thrown off easily but it gives Ben time to collect himself and launch into another volley of attacks, and Crassus provides back-up when needed but otherwise stays back. This is Ben's fight. This is Ben's testament that he belongs here and that he's so much more than Dean Winchester's son, but's also a warning shot that Crassus has Ben's back, and anyone who thinks to take Ben out will have to go through him.

The fight continues for another three minutes before Ketch inevitably wins by using his superior knowledge against Ben.

Ketch gets up and glares at Crassus, his chest heaving and face bruised. Something warm bubbles in Crassus' stomach at the thought of Ben getting the upper hand a couple of times in their fight. Then Ketch does something that startles Crassus so much he trips backwards in shock: Ketch nods at him approvingly.

Both boys, and the onlookers, stare in shock and disbelief at Ketch's departing back.

"Umm, what?" Ben says after a beat. "What just happened?"

Crassus shrugged in response. Like he knew. He's just as baffled as Ben.

Blood trickled down the side of Ben's face, a cut above his eyebrow miraculously not flowing into his eye, other cuts on his lips, chin and cheek, and there is a colorful bruise blossoming on Ben's jaw, but it doesn't take away the strength and sheer amazingness that is Ben Winchester. No, it adds to it. Ben just went up against Arthur Ketch, and doled out his own hits with equal grace and strength and skill.

"You're amazing," Crassus breathes out without thinking, and Ben blinks in surprise before turning pink at the compliment. "I am so not giving you up as a partner."

Ben laughs loudly and slaps Crassus on the back. "I got five minutes before I have to go train again. Wanna walk me to the firing range?"

"Of course," Crassus replies. _I'll always do what you want._ The thought barely registers before it takes hold and sinks into his bones. It's the truth. For Ben, there is nothing Crassus won't do for him, and he doesn't know why. And to be honest, he doesn't really care.

Other recruits watch them go, eyes boring holes into their backs as they trekked up the small knoll that separated the firing range from the rest of the compound. Ben walked tall and proud, with a little bit of swagger thrown in to rub in their faces, but the second they knew they were not being looked at anymore, a limp appeared and a slight hiss escaped from Ben. He clutched at his ribs, taking careful breaths.

"Fuck," he hissed. He shot a reassuring smile at Crassus when he saw the worried look. "It's not that bad."

"Uh-huh," Crassus said dubiously. He looped an arm carefully around Ben's waist and helped him the last couple of yards to the firing range, where they saw Ketch seemingly grab every single gun off of the racks and pile them on a large table that is quickly being dwarfed by the sheer amount of weapons being placed upon it.

"Damn," Crassus whispered, and gently squeezed Ben in sympathy. "See you in a couple of days." He deposited Ben outside the shooting range, saluted his favorite American, and booked it before Ketch saw him.

He can wait two days before he and Ben are truly reunited. Crassus holds Dr. Hess' words close to his chest that Ben will need him. He won't let Ben down. He and Ben will become even greater Legacies than Sam and Dean Winchester. Just wait and see. His and Ben's exploits will put the elder Winchesters' to shame. Their names will be known throughout the hunting communities as the ones to watch out for, that if you mess with one, be prepared to deal with the other's vengeance and wrath.

Just give them time, and everyone will see. Even Dean Winchester and Krissy Chambers will see just how good of team they make. They'll see that Ben is doing fine without them. Better even.

They'll see.


	7. Chapter 7

Ketch shared a long, reproachful look with Mick Davies, and the other man had the decency to look sheepish.

"What the hell have you been doing?" Ketch snarled. "Playing allies? That is not the objective, Davies. And why in the hell would you promise to keep Winchester updated on the boy's progress? It's none of his business how the boy's doing."

Mick quirked an eyebrow at his colleague. "It's none of Dean Winchester's business on the welfare of his son?" He asked to clarify. What had he missed in the past three weeks?

"It's not." Ketch slapped the clip into his Beretta 9 mm aggressively.

Okay then, backing off and changing the subject.

"You're working with Mary Winchester for the time being," Mick told Ketch, ignoring the growl from the other man. "I'm making great progress on Sam and Dean and their pet angel. I think I can get them to at least trust me a little bit if I go on some hunts with them."

The derisive snort was not a surprise but it still stung a little.

"Maybe I should hunt with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum instead, and you can handle their mother," Ketch said, hiding a smirk. "We _want_ to impress them, yes? Get them to see that we know what we're talking about? That what we're preaching is tangible and within their reach if they put the work in. That is our goal, right?" Mick nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion where Ketch is taking this. "Then _I_ should be the one hunting. You hunting is the single most hilarious thing I've heard in a good while."

"Funny," Mick snarled, and Ketch chuckled cruelly.

Doubt filled Mick's mind. It's not like Ketch is wrong. Mick is better known for his skills at research and mediation. He's basically the person who does first contact, establishing a rapport with whomever they're meeting, and then handing it off to the, for lack of a better word, agent in charge. That is what Mick is good at. ...Unless it's Americans and he can't make any headway. They're a stubborn bunch, he'll give them that.

"You haven't even met Mary Winchester, and you're already writing her off. She's good, Arthur. Damn good. I think you'll like her," grinned Mick. With his back turned to his colleague, Mick could sense, could feel to the very bottom of his soul, that Ketch has his murderous/constipated face on and directed at him full force.

It's a good thing Mick isn't looking at him. That look even makes Dr. Hess hesitate. There is no way Mick could look and not be cowed.

Dean could. And Sam. They could meet Ketch's stare head on and roll their eyes at his attempt to intimidate them. They faced down Lucifer, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Alistair, Azazel, Abbaddon, Cain, Leviathans, and even Eve herself. And that's not to mention God and his sister. Ketch would not even make them blink.

"It's not going to work. I'm not looking," Mick said, still not turning around. "You can't scare me into changing assignments if I won't look."

Ketch growled in response, and Mick hid a smirk. He's surprised Ketch isn't bullying him into submission, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He still gets to work with the Winchesters and Ketch can assess just how good Mary Winchester is.

"I'd rather be with the boy. I was making real progress with him," Ketch says in an unusually soft tone. "If you hadn't've mucked about with the Winchesters, I would still be with him, and by the time we settled on bringing him back, he wouldn't even consider staying. He'd do his duty then come back home. A month, Davies, that's all you had to do to keep the Winchesters at bay. One fucking month and you couldn't even do that."

Stung, Mick whirled around to defend himself. "Hey! It's not like it's easy getting the Americans to be on board with our plans. We need the Winchesters. We need Mary. And we need the boy. If you had done _your_ job, you could have brought him with you and the hunters would have at least _listened_ to me."

Nostrils flaring, Ketch growled low in his throat, putting up a good intimidation of a pissed off Rottweiler. "The boy won't be ready in time, especially since I'm here with you. I knew the Council should have kept Bevell here. _She_ would have gotten those hunters to listen." He straightened and fixed his tie. Any trace of anger disappearing from his face, and Mick envied the quick way the other man was able to hide his emotions.

"Fine. I got the mother, but you better make them trust you and have them convince the other hunters to, at the very least, listen to your spiel." Ketch rolled his shoulders and neck. "Where is the Winchester matriarch?"

Mick tried to emulate Ketch's business demeanor but fell short. He bet Sam would have pulled it off. Dean not so much. The elder Winchester brother is a hot-head. Sam is better at keeping his emotions in check. Case in point, the brothers dealing with him, the man who helped steal Dean's son away and hasn't let them talk to Ben since he relieved Bevell of her duty.

"Somewhere in Georgia. Checking out a possible hunt. Didn't specify what."

Ketch grunted. He checked his knives then placed them back onto his body. Mick watched him with placid interest, fascinated as always as the other man turned his body into a one-stop weapons cache that's strategically placed and easy to reach at a moment's notice.

Mick had only one gun and one holster to place it. Easy to see. Easy to grab, and that's a two-way street. Other people, people who are good at pick-pocketing, could easily pluck it off of his person without Mick even noticing. Even Bevell kept her weapons hidden but easy to reach, and who knows what Dr. Hess has on her.

"Well, isn't that just bloody perfect," Ketch snarled. "Give me her number so we can meet up. I'd rather get this over and done with so I could get back to the boy."

"Fine, fine," Mick sighed, and texted Mary's number. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

 **BW**

 _Ben hates the early morning swims._  
 _He's excelling at learning Classical Latin & Contemporary._  
 _He's settling in._

Mick's updates are not helping Dean dealing with Ben's disappearance. No. Definitely not helping. Sam seems to think it's progress that they are not getting news about Ben. Three weeks and Mick is finally talking about him.

Three. Weeks.

23 days since Ben got taken, and who is apparently getting brainwashed by the very people who kidnapped him. What's that syndrome called again? Stockholm Syndrome? Something like that. Whatever. That is what's happening to his son. He's identifying and bonding with his captors. Dean needs to get him back. _Now._ Screw the deal they made with Mick. Dean ain't doing shit until he gets Ben back. And Sam - Sam is distracted. He won't tell Dean what he's doing but he promises he isn't wasting time. Dean's believing him for now.

There's a lot of balls in the air and Dean doesn't know which one to catch first.

Lucifer? Mom? Ben? The annoyance that is Mick?

'He's settling in.' Not very comforting. More like a punch to the gut and a solid hit to the heart by a friggin' giant. A real proper giant. Not Sam level giant. Like Won-Won level giant. Besides, what does that mean exactly? Are they indoctrinating his son into their way of thinking? Of viewing hunting and researching as the British do?

Those sons of bitches! Ben is his son, dammit! _His._ Not Mick's. Not the Council's. His and Lisa's. ...More Lisa than him.

 _Lisa._

Closing his eyes, Dean leaned forward on the study table, his elbows on the surface and his face in his hands. Grief rose up inside him, clogging his throat, and hot tears tried to escape but he kept them at bay. He has no right to mourn her passing. She'd be so disappointed in him for not protecting their son. For not doing a lot of things right by them. If he had only gone back to them after he got Sam's soul back, then Lisa would be alive and Ben would be preparing for college instead of her being dead and Ben somewhere in London with the people who kidnapped him and are possibly brainwashing him into compliance.

He is fucking shit at being a father. His mom was wrong. Dean is not a good father. Just look at Sam. He's a prime example of Dean being horrible at parenting. The guy was called the Boy King of Hell, for crying out loud! His daughter wanted to kill him, and Sam killed her, and Ben is quite content living with the enemy. With those three shining examples of his parenting, is it any wonder why he thinks he's shit at being a dad? Not even Mom could find a happy spin on that. Or Cas.

Okay, possibly Cas, but that's only because the angel is biased to all hell concerning him.

"What would Dad do?" The question is asked and only silence answers. Figures. The one time he wants something paranormal to happen and it doesn't. He should grab a _Ouji_ board and contact Jo or . . . Bela.

Dean's head came up. Bela.

Hope started to bloom in his chest.

Bela. Bela Talbot. She'd know where the British Men of Letters are. She'd _have to_. She knew people in Europe who had a penchant for collecting haunted and exotic items. What if she got artifacts for the those pompous asses? As much as Mick likes to boast about his chapter house, there is no way they couldn't have gotten all their artifacts by themselves. No. Bela had to have helped them out for a steep price. He'll even bet they're the ones that told her about the Crossroads Demon when she was a child. Instead of helping her, they told her to sell her soul to save herself.

And these people have his son, brainwashing him.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed in the Bunker, bringing Sam and Cas running to the library. "Bela!" he said excitedly as Sam skidded to a halt by him, gun raised and eyes searching for danger.

He paused, then blinked. "Bela?" Dean nodded. Sam frowned in confusion for a couple of seconds then his eyes cleared and he lit up, hope infusing his features and he reached out to grab onto Dean. "Bela," he breathed, his other hand grabbing onto Cas so he could be excited too. "Bela Talbot could find the Chapter house."

"How . . . do we get in contact with this . . . Bela," Cas said slowly, his mouth grimacing at saying Bela's name, and Dean hid a pleased smirk, feeling stupidly happy at Cas being jealous over someone else's name.

Sam turned, pulling Dean with him, and faced Cas, eyes bright. "She's dead." Cas blinked, confusion in his eyes. "A _Ouji_ board. We can contact her through that. She's in Hell," Sam adds when Cas' confusion does not give way. "We don't need you to go to Heaven and deal with your brothers and sisters -"

"Dick-heads," Dean muttered darkly.

"-and we don't need to contact Crowley for his help either. No one will be put in danger or favor owed. God, why didn't we think of that before?" Sam asked Dean, a frown on his face.

Dean holds up his hands. "Hey, you're the genius, Stanford boy. Don't blame me." He has the biggest smile on his face, and it's a damn good sight for Sam and Cas to see. The exhaustion, anger and hurt that has weighed Dean down is gone, even if its for a moment. Dean looks at them expectantly. "Well? Go buy a _Ouji_ board!"

Sam jolts into action, grabbing his coat and is out the door before Cas can even ask what Dean wants him to do while Sam is off getting the board. Dean grabs Cas and drags him along to the kitchen to make some snacks. Cas goes willingly, pleased that Dean is no longer so angry.

Cas' arms are soon ladened with junk food piled high enough that he could barely see over them. He didn't complain, allowing Dean to pile even more food because his hunter is finally showing some hope at their situation. They still have no trace of Lucifer after he left Vince Vincente's body. Castiel is grateful that Mick Davies is know sharing information about Ben and his situation in London, if nothing, they now know that Ben isn't being hurt or tortured. Not that Dean would say that it's any better. He seems to think they're using that time to brainwash Ben into their way of thinking by offering up "training" as a way to get Ben to trust them.

Sam seems to think Dean's being paranoid, but Castiel has known Dean long enough to trust his instincts concerning his family, and Castiel knows that Sam also believes this as well. He thinks Sam is just trying to be optimistic about the whole situation. Castiel can understand that. He wishes Dean would too, if only for his sanity.

"Let's go," Dean says, pulling Castiel out of his thoughts and out of the kitchen to the library. They pile the goodies on to a table, leaving space for the _Ouji_ board. Dean carefully places their favorite snacks in front of their designated chairs.

Then Dean spent the next ten minutes getting everything perfect and situated, takes a step back, frowns a bit, then goes back in and rearranges everything until he's happy with it. Castiel merely stepped back and let Dean do his thing. He held snacks that Dean shoved into his arms while the hunter rearranged yet again the food piles. Sam returned from town, and watched his brother move snacks around for a couple of minutes, sharing a fondly amused look with Castiel.

There's no hurry to do the seance. They could let Dean move the snacks around to his heart's content.

And they did.

Thirty minutes go by in amiable silence. Dean finally looks up to see them standing there staring at him. Red stains his cheeks and he can't look them in the eye but he defiantly crosses his arms, waiting for them to laugh or make a joke. They don't. Of course they don't. There's little reason for them to ruin the small amount of happiness Dean found.

Well, maybe happiness isn't the right word. Contentment, perhaps?

"Don't. Say. A. Word."

Sam and Cas nod simultaneously, Cheez-its in Cas's hand. Dean walks over and plucks the red box out of the angel's hand and shoves it into Sam's, exchanging for the _Ouji_ board.

"Let's get this party started!" Dean grinned.

"Dean," Sam and Cas sighed at the same time. Dean's grin widened, green eyes sparkling, and they end up smiling back. Anything to keep Dean's mind off of Ben and Mary.

Castiel watched curiously as Dean set up the board, picking up the planchette to inspect. He wanted to ask why is it triangular but was afraid that he might ruin Dean's good mood. Placing the planchette back on the table, he picked up next the description and read to see if it explains why there is a triangle and discovered it's called a planchette. Huh. Humans. They never cease to amaze him.

 **BW**

Ben leans heavily against Crassus, exhausted and bored. A dangerous combination when one is on watch. If Ketch was still around, he'd smack both of their heads together and make them do PT until they're throwing up and their legs feel like jelly. It's the only plus side he can think of his mentor being gone. Marcus Braughn is his new mentor, and he is nowhere near as good as Ketch. His fighting techniques are sloppy, and he's as stealthy as an elephant in a glass factory. How he's qualified to teach up and coming hunters and Men of Letters is beyond Ben. He should talk to Dr. Hess. This is blatant incompetency. Braughn can seriously put any of the younger recruits in danger for not knowing how to be quiet.

The cool wind shifts direction, sending icy fingers up their shirts, clawing at their skin. Shivering, Crassus tucks himself under Ben's arm, the bastard - that was Ben's plan - sighing contentedly.

"Asshole," Ben hisses into the other teen's ear, but he doesn't shove Crassus off. There's a puff of laughter against his skin, goosebumps raise at the temperature difference. It's not entirely unpleasant, reminding him of a cold night with Krissy and that's an odd mental link to make between the two because that's the night he worked up the courage to kiss Krissy for the first time. He'd been so certain she'd kick his ass, but instead kissed him back. It was a good night.

The sensation is the same though. Again, weird mental link.

Three more hours and then he can sleep. Why they have a watch in the first place is confusing. This place is warded up the ying-yang. No creature can get in here, and the security is top notch. No human can get in here either.

"Watch is stupid," Ben grumbles loud enough for Crassus to hear. "Why are we even doing this? We could be sleeping in our beds, warm and not on the verge of frost bite."

Crassus snorts, lifting his head up to look Ben in the eye. "Because we're supposed to be learned how to depend not only on each other but building up routines and techniques that would help us in the long run. We're learning how to run our bodies on limited sleep and to push them to their maximum endurance level. This is for our own good."

"That sounded quite rehearsed." Crassus hit Ben, laughing. "You practice that the entire time we've been on watch?" teased Ben, pinning Crassus's hands to his chest to keep him from hitting him again. He grinned when Crassus mashed his face into Ben's shoulder to keep from laughing loudly. They'd surely be punished if they were found laughing while on watch for next four hours. Not even Ben's "lineage" would protect them from that. Dr. Hess might even think of her own form of punishment, disappointment written all over her face.

"Shut up, Winchester," Crassus mumbled, and Ben's grin grows. "Let me go."

"Only if you promise to quit hitting me. What kind of friend are you? Hitting your best friend over any little thing I do that annoys or embarrasses you. That's a long list of things I can't do, man. That's not very fair of you," Ben said. His eyes scanned the perimeter, debating about them getting up and going on their rounds now instead of when they're too cold to move.

Crassus snorted eloquently.

"We should go patrol." Ben yawned, and shoved Crassus off of him and got to his feet. Swaying slightly from having Crassus on him and for sitting so long without moving, Ben shook himself awake, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet to get his blood pumping. Crassus did the same, only with more complaining.

Wind rustles the grass around them, playing with Ben's hair and trying to slip under his shirt to chill his skin with a vicious bite, probably as punishment for sitting on his ass for the past hour. The wind is working for Dr. Hess, Ben just knows it. He can feel it in his bones. She probably has some wind spirits under her control and she sends them out on nights like this to test the newest recruits.

How does one get wind spirits under their control? Is that advanced magic? Will he be here long enough to learn that type of magic? He'd like to, but he'd also like to get back home.

Crassus grumbled then slapped Ben on the shoulder, jolting him out of his wandering thoughts.

"Let's go. I don't wanna be caught sitting on my ass."

He took off before Ben could say a retort, legs moving quickly as he did his rounds. Ben let him take the lead. He's been here longer and Ben shouldn't be showing him up as Dr. Hess's favorite. The dirty looks Ben gets on a daily basis is enough to last him a lifetime. He doesn't need Crassus to join them in hating on Ben for things beyond his control.

Braughn is waiting for them once they finished their second circuit around the training grounds. An unhappy expressions pulls at the older man's face, high-lighting the wrinkles on his youthful face, making him a living juxtaposition. Not exactly a good look on the man.

"You have a solo mission," Braughn told Crassus, "and you have lessons with Dr. Mortonson." He nodded at Ben, and Ben nodded back. "Bed, Winchester."

"Yes, sir," Ben said, pulling Crassus in for a bro hug, and whispered, "Good luck. You'll kick ass."

Crassus grinned before turning his attention back to Braughn, his brow furrowing as he listened to his mission parameters. Neither boy noticed the uneasy look in Braughn's eyes as he relayed the information Crassus would need to complete his objective. Easy grab of a needed artifact the Chapter house needs. Something first years handle with no trouble. For someone of Crassus's training and skills, he should get it done quickly, and if Crassus were to be asked how he felt about his mission, he'd say he felt insulted at doing something so easy as a solo mission.

Crassus forgot the most important lesson taught at Kendrick's: over-confidence can get you killed.

Getting shooed away to bed, and it's not like he's going to argue against sleeping in his bed after freezing his ass most of the night, Ben walked away without looking back, not knowing that would be the last time he saw his friend for a long time.


End file.
